"Mandalay" by Rudyard
Kipling
By the old Moulmein Pagoda,
lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin',
and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the
palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British
soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles
chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like
thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er
little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat --
jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin'
of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses
on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd
Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols
when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
When the mist was on the
rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an'
she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder
an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an'
the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that
'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
But that's all shove be'ind me
-- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses
runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London
what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East
a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the
palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .
I am sick o' wastin' leather on
these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle
wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty
'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin',
but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in
a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez,
where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten
Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are
callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda,
looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the
awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like
thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
